The literati in their cellarsPerform semantic tarantellas.I wish I did it half as well as them.

We measure our days out in steps of uncertainty not turning to see how far we've come. And peer down the highway from here to eternity and reach out for love on the run.

You reach out your hand, but you're all alone, in those time passages.

Only two to three per cent of an audience is interested in words and pays attention to lyrics; most of the rest of it is about image or the beat or the sound, or else it's a tribal thing - country & western, rap, heavy metal, with historical folk rock off in some kind of cult.

She doesn't give you time for questions as she locks up your arms in hers. And you follow till your sense of direction completely disappears.

Do you remember the church across the sands? You stood outside and planned to travel the lands, where the pilgrims go. So you packed your world up inside a canvas sack, set off down the highway with your rings and Kerouac. Someone said they saw you in Nepal a long time back. Tell me why you look away, don't you have a word to say?

Jimi Hendrix played loud and free, Sergeant Pepper was real to me.